


No happy ending in sight for us (but we can still enjoy the moments)

by NammiKisulora



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Assorted cuddles, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Jon is a sleep cuddler, M/M, Pining, Scottish Honeymoon, mutual and otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NammiKisulora/pseuds/NammiKisulora
Summary: Assorted oneshots, ranging between "very short" and "short"; all the little snippets that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote them, sad and happy ones alike.Mainly Jon/Martin stuff, but other characters might also show up.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 112





	1. In case of emergency

**Author's Note:**

> Let's start with a sweet one, shall we? 
> 
> Set in the Scottish safehouse, Jon has a nightmare, needs a cigarette and gets some cuddles.

Jon doesn’t smoke much these days, but he does keep a pack of cigarettes at hand in case of emergency. When he wakes panting and drenched in sweat, muddled with panic from a nightmare he can’t remember (for a brief second, he’s relieved at that, because then it was just a mundane one, not a Beholding dream), he immediately declares it one.

Silently, careful not to wake Martin, he creeps out of the bedroom, snatching up his backpack on the way. In the hallway, he digs out the pack and a terrible, neon green, plastic lighter. Then he goes outside and swears quietly at the squeaking hinges of the door as he closes it with shaking hands.

He lights a cigarette and takes the first drag with a sigh of relief. It takes another few puffs until he’s calmed down enough to sit down on the steps, and when he does, he almost regrets it. The chill of the stone seeps through his pyjamas in a second, making him shiver. In his hurry, he forgot his jacket inside too, and the sweat turns icy in the cool night air. He smokes the cigarette all the way down to the filter in deep, hungry drags and lights another one, despite the fact this his hands are shaking worse than ever, only with cold this time.

He’s barely halfway through the second cigarette when the door creaks behind him.

“Jon?” Martin sits down next to him and wraps the living room blanket around them both. He’s sleep-warm and soft, and Jon leans into him, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Martin coughs and takes the cigarette from him, looking at it for a second before taking a drag of his own. He hands it back with a grimace. “Eugh. I haven’t smoked for years and it still tastes terrible.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” Jon takes a final drag before stubbing the cigarette out, despite it not being finished. “Did I wake you?” He wriggles a bit so he’s comfortably nestled against Martin’s side, and takes his hand to tighten his arm around him.

“No. Well, not exactly. But you weren’t there and didn’t come back like you’d been to the loo or something, so…” He shrugs and rests his chin on the top of Jon’s head. “Bad dream?”

Jon just nods. Nightmares are something they are both far too familiar with, after all. By now, the fear has subsided, and with Martin’s arm around him the last, lingering unease is dissipating too, in favour of a feeling of warm, safe and secure. It might not be entirely true in reality, but right now? It doesn’t matter.

With a contented sigh, Jon burrows into Martin’s shoulder. They’ll have to go back inside soon, it’s cold even with the blanket and the shared body-heat, but not yet. Not yet.


	2. A proper date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin finally go on a proper date in Scotland, get a bit drunk and are tooth rottingly cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently all I have ready to post is fluff, this one without any angst whatsoever.

“I.” Martin falters, and Jon looks up from the book he was reading, a puzzled frown forming on his face. Martin takes a deep breath and plunges on. “I want to go on a date. A – a proper date. With… you.” That makes Jon’s frown turn into a smile, at least.

“Well, I better hope it’s with me”, he says in that soft voice Martin still hasn’t gotten used to; it still sent tingles up his spine every time he heard it. “I’d be rather put out if you ran away with a dashing Scot, to be honest. Wh-” The rest is muffled by the pillow Martin throws at him.

“Jon.”

“Martin?”

“There’s a pub down in the village. It looks… nice.” God, why is he so nervous? They’ve been… together ever since they got to Scotland, more than a week ago. They haven’t really talked about it, about what it actually _is_ , but with all the hand holding and falling asleep spooning, and eventually kissing – quite a lot of kissing, actually – there didn’t seem to be too much to talk about. “I. Yeah. Do you… want to?”

“Yes.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yes. I would really love to go on a date with you. Would you believe me if I told you I’ve wanted to for a long time now?”

“… really?”

-

“Oh my god, Jon! Jon, you’re _drunk_!” Martin giggles as Jon stumbles yet again. Jon stops, swaying ever so slightly.

“No”, he says, and Martin has to grab his arm to stop him tipping over. “… yes. Maybe. Slightly.”

And that might just be the funniest thing Martin has ever heard in his life. He feels – he feels happy. _Light_ . Like nothing dark and fearful could touch him right now, however hard it tries. He isn’t exactly sober himself – that cider in the pub was _strong_ – but at least he’s kept his feet so far. Jon though – lightweight that he apparently is, another adorable fact Martin didn’t know but tucks away in the ever-growing box in his mind labelled “Jon” – has had trouble walking in a straight line since they left. It seems like the walk back to the cabin is going to be a long one, but Martin doesn’t mind. It’s time spent with Jon, after all.

Suddenly Jon steps – or more accurately, stumbles – very close, wraps his arms around Martin from behind and whispers in his ear:

“And if I am, it’s _your_ fault. I wasn’t the one who spent forty-five minutes talking to the bartender about _cows_. What was I supposed to do, hm?”

And he does that thing when he nuzzles Martin’s neck that makes Martin go all weak in the knees, even without alcohol. He gasps and turns around, aiming for Jon’s mouth but missing it, landing a sloppy kiss on his jaw instead. Evening stubble tickles his lips and Jon laughs, a soft, sweet sound that makes Martin shiver with delight; the thought that _he_ is the cause for Jon making a sound like that still nigh unbelievable. He takes a step back and grasps Jon firmly by the shoulders.

“Jonathan Sims”, he said, intending it to sound solemn and sincere and only slurring the words just enough not to pull if off, “I am hopelessly, madly in love with you.”

And Jon all but falls against him so Martin tumbles against a fencepost behind him, startling the cows sleeping in the field. To the sound of agitated moos and with their arms around each other, they wobble back towards their cabin: happy for this night together, whatever may come.


	3. After the Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath of ep 159.

Jon is very reluctant to let go of him. Even after they came out of the Lonely on a quiet side street in Camden (why there? Martin wonders, but he doesn’t ask), Jon  holds onto his hand  until they g e t back to Martin’s flat.  Only then he let s go, hesitantly, like he  is afraid Martin  will bolt. Not an entirely unreasonable assumption, Martin guesse s , remembering their brief interactions of the past few months. Right now he doubt s he’d have the energy, even if he wanted  to .

“I – I think I need to go lie down”, he mumbles, and Jon nods, suddenly awkward and uncertain. “D-do you…” He trails off, unsure of what he meant to say. Jon is swaying slightly, looking ready to keel over himself. He opens his mouth to offer Jon the couch, but the words catch in his throat. The thought of being alone again is terrifying. Instead he turns and heads into the bedroom, hoping Jon will follow on his own accord.

He doesn’t. Instead he stands stock still in the hallway, looking uncertain and… sad? Martin forces his uncooperative tongue to speak, the words feeling thick and heavy. He is so tired, drained. All he wants is to sleep, maybe forever.

“You coming?”

That snaps Jon out of his reverie, and with two quick steps he’s caught up with Martin and follows him into the bedroom. Then he once again stands still and uncertain as Martin shrugs out of his jeans and sweater and climbs into the bed clad in t-shirt and boxers, too exhausted and drained to be embarrassed. It can’t be more than six feet between him and Jon, but it feels like a bottomless abyss that Martin has no idea how to cross. He holds out his hand, palm up, imploring, without knowing the right words to – to – he doesn’t even know what he wants, only that he needs Jon not to pull back _now_.

But whatever the outstretched hand says it seems to work, because Jon tentatively sits down on the edge of the bed and places his hand on top of Martin’s, pressing their palms together. The warmth of Jon’s skin sends a jolt through his whole body, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s freezing, his whole body trembling and teeth chattering. Then Jon appears to notice too, and he looks alarmed.

“M-martin, I, I, I – Martin, what do you need?” he stutters, and Martin chokes out the only thing he can think of:

“You.” If it had been any other time he probably would’ve been mortified to say such an inane, ridiculous thing, but right now it’s – it’s only the truth. And finally Jon lies down next to him, close enough that Martin can feel the warmth radiating from him, yet so very, very far away. Jon’s hand hovers over his shoulder, not quite touching, and Jon’s breath is warm on his face.

“Can – can I hold you?” he whispers, and Martin’s nod finally spurs him into action. He wraps his arms around Martin, pulling him close and holds him fast, his firm grip stilling the trembling still wracking his body. When the shivering finally subsides, Martin notices Jon is shaking too, ever so slightly. “I was so afraid I’d lost you”, Jon mumbles, his voice muffled in Martin’s hair. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“I had to keep you safe”, Martin whispers. “I had to keep him busy so he’d leave you alone.”

“I know. Don’t ever do it again.” When Martin breathes a laugh into Jon’s neck, he pulls back, looking affronted. “I mean it, Martin. What-whatever happens now, we’ll do it together.” Then he suddenly pulls back, and Martin nearly whimpers at the loss of his warmth. Jon looks uncertain and determined at once, his eyes flicking back and forth between meeting Martin’s and avoiding them. “If – if that’s what you… want?” He’s holding his breath now, it seems, and Martin feels warmth of a different kind flood him; a warmth he hasn’t felt in months.

“I do. I do want that”, he murmurs, and Jon crashes back into him with an impressive amount of force for someone lying down.

They stay like that for hours, holding onto each other, quietly reassuring themselves that the other one, that  _this_ , this fragile, precious thing they have yet to put a name to, is real. Maybe they doze off occasionally, but never for long, always waking with a start, heart hammering with fear that  it was only a dream, sent only to make the truth hurt more. But  no, every time Martin wakes fearing he will only see mist and hear the distant sound of crashing waves, Jon is there, warm and solid with his arms wrapped tight around him, his breath mingling with Martin’s own, whispering  _I’m here, I’m here, you’re not alone, we got out, we got out, we got out, I love you, I love you, I love you_ until Martin can breathe again.


	4. A night in the Archives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon falls asleep at his desk, but Martin won't let him spend the whole night there.
> 
> Set during Martin's stay in the Archives in season 1.

“Jon?” Martin squints against the light, and Jon blinks sleepily at him. His neck hurts; it appears he’s getting too old to sleep folded over his desk without paying for it. “Jon, you can’t sleep here.” Martin’s hair is standing up in all directions, and he’s only wearing a t-shirt and pants. His voice is muzzy with sleep, but his sleepy expression is quickly giving way to concern.

“Can”, Jon croaks, in lack of a better response. “Will.” He tries to settle back onto the desk, pillowing his head on his arms, but then Martin is there, tugging at his elbow.

“Come on.”

And Jon is too tired to argue; his back aches and all his joints pop and crack ominously when he rises. For a second, his vision goes dark and he thinks he might fall over, but Martin’s grip on his arm steadies him enough to keep him standing.

Without a word, he lets Martin tow him to the document storage room with the cot. It’s quite a large one, actually – Jon’s always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning until he wakes with the sheets twisted all around him, which he took into account when he realised he’d probably need somewhere to crash at work occasionally. And now – Martin can’t mean – no – but evidently, he does.

“It’s big enough for two”, Martin mumbles, already burrowing back into the pillows. Jon fights with himself for a moment, but knows it’s a lost cause.

 _He’s half asleep and not thinking properly!_ Jon’s brain yells at him, but it is overruled by his body, and he clambers into the bed that is already warm. He lies on his back; not his preferred sleeping position, but if he lies still enough, maybe he’ll manage to stay that way even asleep… Martin’s breathing is already becoming deeper and more even, and Jon is very aware of his presence a mere few inches away.

Sleep is dragging him under, and the last thing he thinks before he drops off is how he never noticed how nice this bed is before.

-

Jon wakes with a heavy weight over his side and his face squashed into something warm and soft. _Shit._ It’s been so long since he shared a bed with anyone that he’d nearly managed to forget his tendency to latch onto anyone lying close enough and hold on for dear life until he either wakes or is woken by the other person pushing him away (“Ooof, Jon, let go, I can’t breathe!” was probably Georgie’s most common morning greeting). And now he’s – he’s in the Archive storage room, clinging to Martin like a touch starved cat. And it feels _nice_ . Then his brain fires awake and he repeats the thought, the feeling of sleepy contentment quickly giving way to utter horror. _This is not professional_ , he thinks stupidly and holds his breath, suddenly terrified of waking Martin. Thankfully, he appears to still be sleeping peacefully, his arm loosely wrapped around Jon.

He needs to extract himself from the embrace before Martin wakes, is the thought that finally sticks. Slowly and carefully he begins to pull back, fighting against the impulse to go back to sleep. Removing Martin’s arm is the hardest part; he can’t just wriggle out from beneath it but has to lift it off himself before carefully laying it down on the bed between them. Just as he does, Martin stirs and mumbles something. Jon freezes, not daring to breathe. If Martin wakes now, there is no way he can ever pretend this didn’t happen, and – and – and – _(then he will have to leave the Institute without notice, head straight to Heathrow without stopping at his flat and_ _catch_ _the first flight to New Zealand and never ever show his face in London again_ ) – and it will be terribly awkward until this whole “Martin living in the Archives” situation is resolved. But Martin just snorts in his sleep and flops over onto his stomach, and Jon can slip out of the bed.

With a final, longing look he really doesn’t want to examine too closely, he gently closes the door to document storage behind him and heads back to his desk to get back to work.

-

Half an hour later, Martin knocks lightly on the door.

“I, um – I brought you a cup of tea”, he mumbles and places a steaming cup of fragrant tea in its usual space, a small square of desk Jon tries to keep free of clutter just for this.

“Thank you, Martin”, he says with a quick glance upwards, hoping this will be the end of it. But Martin lingers, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt as he worries his lower lip with his teeth. When Jon meets his eyes, he blushes and Jon swears internally. There is no way he will not bring it up, that he noticed Jon clinging to him in his sleep, and he just wants to give him a warning that he’s going to Elias to complain about Jon’s unbelievably unprofessional behaviour, despite the fact that Elias is already grumbling about Martin staying in the Archives and he will undoubtedly fire Jon on the spot and – Jon takes a deep breath and chances another look away from his papers. Martin is still standing there, one foot hesitantly behind him like he’s ready to bolt for the door. Jon wills his voice to be steady once again. “Was there anything else?”

“Um, no. Not – not really. I’ll just…” Martin inches backwards towards the door, and is halfway out of it before he turns back. “I slept well tonight. For – for the first time since, you know. Prentiss. Thank you.”

Jon blinks at him. Then he nods curtly.

“You’re – welcome. Don’t – don’t you have some notes to finish on case 0032408?” It’s Martin’s turn to blink and nod, but Jon has to suppress a flash of pride for keeping his voice steady.

“… right, um. Yeah.” And then, Martin is gone and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s tossing and turning alone in his own bed that night that he slept well, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will pry the headcanon that Jon goes into full octopus mode the second he's unconscious from my cold, dead hands.


	5. Loving me, loving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Thank you."  
>  "For what?"  
> "For having loved me."_
> 
> The first night in the safehouse, an important conversation is had.

“Thank you”, Jon whispers into the dark, startling Martin, who had just begun to drop off to sleep.

“For what?” he mumbles, hoping for a quick answer. He’s tired, bloody knackered after their tense escape from the Institute and London, and the long train ride to Scotland. In any other circumstances, especially a year ago or so, lying in the same bed as Jon with only a foot or so of space between them would have been driving him crazy. Right now, all he wants is to sleep. Everything else can wait till morning.

Apparently Jon does not share the sentiment.

“For having loved me”, he says, so quietly Martin almost thought he’d misheard.

A cold dread settles into his stomach. His memories of the beach a vague and foggy up till the moment he Saw Jon there, but he does have a hazy recollection of saying something about love the first time Jon found him. Is – is that the reason Jon has acted almost shy around him since they got out? He’d held Martin’s hand on their way out of the Lonely, so firm and full of confidence, but the moment they stepped out on a damp London side street, Jon had let go and barely touched Martin since. Every time they accidentally collided on the train or their hands brushed on the slow trudge from the village to the cabin, Jon had recoiled and mumbled something that sounded like an apology. Martin had wondered, but hadn’t had the energy to deal with it right then.

Apparently he should have, because what does Jon think about – them? And… what does _Martin_ actually think about them? He spent so long distancing himself from all emotion; he had to make it convincing, and in a way it had felt good. Easier. But when he Saw Jon on the beach, he knew he hadn’t really lost anything, only buried it: for one perfect moment, there had been so much love between them it had defeated the Lonely.

But then Jon hadn’t said anything, nothing at all, and Martin had decided that he wasn’t going to push it. At least not until he’d had a decent night’s sleep.

“Jon…” He hesitates, not sure what he even wants to say. “Jon, I –“ he tries again, but Jon cuts him off.

“I know we haven’t talked properly for – for a long time, maybe ever, but I – I just want you to know that I respect your feelings, no matter – no. No, I respect your feelings, period.” Then after a moment of silence, while Martin is still trying to comprehend what he’s hearing: “… though I am glad I didn’t have to sleep on the sofa.” There is another pause. “Good night, Martin. I’m sorry I woke you.”

All at once, the foot of space between them feel like an abyss, impossible to cross. Jon’s voice had nearly broken towards the end, and Martin’s heart aches with – love. Because nothing, no weird fear gods or monsters or _anything_ , could make him stop loving this frustrating, exasperating, _wonderful_ man. Martin takes a deep breath and reaches out, brushing his fingertips over Jon’s face. He can’t see him clearly in the dark, but he feels stubble and worm scars, and a warm, chapped lip.

“Jon. What do _you_ feel?”

“It’s not important. We are safe for now, that’s all that matters.”

“ _Jon_.”

“I – I love you. And you…” His breath hitches, and Martin can feel his face scrunch up under his hand. _Oh_ , he thinks.

“Oh, Jon.” Without thinking, he wraps his arm around Jon, tugging at him. For a second Jon resists, too surprised to move, then he’s tumbling into Martin’s embrace. “I – Jon, what do you think I feel? Without using your spooky powers.” Jon’s quiet huff makes him smile, and he holds him tighter, Jon’s breath on his neck giving him goosebumps. But Jon hesitates, starting to say something several times, but always stopping himself before any actual words come out.

“I don’t know”, is the answer that finally makes it out, in a small, uncertain voice that makes Martin’s heart clench. “I – I – I hoped that – that… What I am trying to say is that I am perfectly happy to be your friend, and I hope that you w-will want that, my friendship, that is, despite – everything.” His breath comes in stuttering gaps against Martin’s clavicle, and his heart is beating frantically, almost as fast as Martin’s.

“ _No_ , Jon”, he whispers. “What I said on the beach, it was – it was the Lonely speaking, not me. Not really.” Ever so carefully, he brushes away Jon’s hair from his forehead, just like he’s dreamed of doing so many times. Then he holds his breath and presses his lips to it, counting his heartbeats and waiting for –

“ _Martin_.”

He has heard Jon say his name so many times, in so many different ways: irritable, derisive, angry, exasperated, tired, sadly, pleading, gently… but never quite like this, mumbled like a prayer against his skin. It’s more than he ever dreamed of.

Before he has time to think, he’s lifting Jon’s face, a soft push under his chin. The kiss is soft, so very very soft; Jon’s lips are warm and dry, and his breath catches as he melts into it. Martin has played out this fantasy to himself before, but nothing could have prepared him for the tiny humming noises Jon makes as he deepens the kiss, or the way his hand comes up to tangle in Martin’s hair.

At last he pulls back, his heart stuttering at the sound Jon makes as he breaks the kiss. His eyes have adjusted enough that he can see the outline of Jon’s face, the glint of his eyes in the darkness.

“Do you know now?” he whispers, and he doesn’t need to see to feel Jon smile.

“Yes. Yes, I believe I do.”

Then Jon surges close to kiss him again, and it’s a long time before they finally sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently incapable of writing anything but sappy fluff for these two.
> 
> Inspired by (but not based on) by [this comic](https://tatumsdrawing.tumblr.com/post/613058790881886208/theres-two-more-pages-i-need-to-figure-out-how-to) by tatumsdrawing on tumblr.


	6. I do (I would have)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Because it’s stupid, alright! We’re – we’re trekking through the bloody apocalypse and I’m – I’m fantasizing about a bloody wedding, which is just ridiculous! It’s – I didn’t want you to… know. Look, just forget it, alright? It was a silly, throwaway thought not meant for your – eyes, whatever!” He tries to pull his hand back, but Jon won’t let go._
> 
> Jon accidentally Looks into Martin's thoughts without realising it, and is surprised by what he finds. Season 5 spoilers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They love each other and I love them.

They rarely speak about an afterwards, the hypothetical too great and fragile to be touched upon with words. Secretly, Martin doubts that Jon even dares to think of it as a possibility, while he himself clings to the hope like a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea. Likewise, they usually avoid talking about all the might-have-beens, everything they never had the chance to do, simply because thinking of it is far too painful.

Martin carries the memories of Jon, peacefully asleep in their temporary haven, and of Jon snorting with laughter with a teacup in his hand, tucked in his heart like a precious treasure with sharp edges that will cut him if he touches it too much. But with all the time they spend walking, it is unavoidable that his mind sometimes drifts to all the things he wanted but won’t ever get to have.

On one such occasion, Jon must have been unusually distracted, because suddenly he Knows what Martin is thinking without a word being uttered.

“Martin”, he says, stopping. “Oh, _Martin_.” And before he knows what’s happening, Martin is being crushed in a tight embrace.

“Jon…?”

“I do, I would have in a heartbeat.”

“Jon. What.”

“… oh. Oh! Fuck, Martin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean –“ He abruptly lets go and backs away, hand over his mouth.

“Jon, you’re acting really strangely, could you tell me what’s going on?”

“I, I, I promised I – I wouldn’t… look.” Jon keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, away from Martin’s face. “I didn’t realise – I thought you said –“

“Oh.” Martin’s ears are suddenly hot. “I. Uh. Oh.” Then Jon sits down on the thankfully dry ground and pats the space next to him.

“Come rest a bit with me?”

“Okay.” Martin shrugs out of his backpack and sits down, stretching out his legs with a sigh. Even if they technically don’t need to rest, it is nice to take a break occasionally. They sit next to each other without touching, each lost in their own thoughts. After what feels like a minor eternity, Jon breaks the silence.

“I am sorry, I truly didn’t mean to – look. It was an accident, but one I will endeavour not to let happen again.” He holds out his hand, palm up. “Will you forgive me?” Martin looks at the offered hand for a moment before taking it.

“Yeah. I forgive you. It’s just… a bit embarrassing, I guess? You weren’t meant to know that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid, alright! We’re – we’re trekking through the bloody apocalypse and I’m – I’m fantasizing about a bloody wedding, which is just ridiculous! It’s – I didn’t want you to… know. Look, just forget it, alright? It was a silly, throwaway thought not meant for your – eyes, whatever!” He tries to pull his hand back, but Jon won’t let go.

“Martin.” When Martin pulls one more time, he sighs and releases the hand, but cups his cheek instead. “I’d want that. If – if we get out of this, I’ll marry you, if that’s what you want.”

“Really?” He puts his hand over Jon’s, leaning into the touch. “I guess I didn’t figure you to be the marrying kind. I mean…”

“Haven’t I proven by now that I’m quite fond of being with you? I think the step from boyfriends to husbands would be quite a logical one, eventually.”

“Heh. You’re right, I guess. Is – is it something you’ve thought about a lot? Or… at all? Marrying someone?”

“Not much before… you, no. It was never about to happen with Georgie, and I haven’t exactly put a lot of time into romantic relationships since then. Until – until you. But if you must know, yes. When I dared think about a possible future with you, somehow I always pictured you with a wedding band.” He touches Martin’s left ring finger with a wry smile. “What about you?”

“It’s never really come up before.” Martin shrugs. “I guess I’ve always kind of… assu.med that if I met the right bloke I’d marry him? But none of my relationships ever lasted beyond a few months. For some reason they didn’t like that I always had to cancel plans at the last minute because something or other with mum.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He leans into Jon’s side and rests his head on his shoulder, and Jon wraps an arm tightly around him and buries his nose in Martin’s hair. It’s a little thing Jon started doing in the safehouse, and it makes Martin giddy with the sheer intimacy of it – especially now, when they so rarely stop to rest and just… be for a while. He finds Jon’s hand and squeezes it. “It’s not like I’ve dated a lot the past few years anyways. Too busy pining for you, heh.”

“Hm. That can’t have been much fun.”

“Worth it in the end.” He tries to make it sound like a light hearted quip, but Jon makes a broken noise at it, half a whimper, half a sob. Martin pulls back so he can meet Jon’s eyes, long since used to their uncanny glow. “I mean it. I love you, and yes, Jon. If – _when_ we set the world back, we’ll get married, all nice and proper. All right?”

“All right.”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get going.”


	7. After Prentiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He looks at the dates of the text messages Prentiss had sent to him. The “bug no better” one was sent six days ago, and Jon had breathed a sigh of relief when Martin hadn’t picked up at his dutiful attempt to call him to check in. Martin might already have started on the canned peaches, while Jon sat in the Archives, relieved at the continued peace and quiet._
> 
> Martin has finally escaped his worm induced imprisonment, and Jon feels guilty.

Jon collapses onto the tube seat with a heavy sigh, trying to will his heart to slow down. It doesn’t. Instead he finds himself scrolling through the messages from “Martin” from the past two weeks, wondering how he could be so stupid. They’re not many, and none of Jon’s terse replies were ever answered.

_i’ve got a stomach bug won’t be in this week_

_still sick might be a while_

_bug no better won’t come back yet_

_stomach still acting up might be a parasite_

Scrolling further back, Jon curses himself. Nearly every previous conversation had ended with Martin apologising for some real or imagined inconvenience he’d caused Jon, and Jon had never gotten around to tell him to stop.

He looks at the dates of the text messages Prentiss had sent to him. The “bug no better” one was sent six days ago, and Jon had breathed a sigh of relief when Martin hadn’t picked up at his dutiful attempt to call him to check in. Martin might already have started on the canned peaches, while Jon sat in the Archives, relieved at the continued peace and quiet.

He shoves the phone deep into his pocket, feeling sick. He should have known something was wrong, dammit! With another, deeper sigh he rests his forehead against the cool glass of the window, the darkness rushing by at a dizzying speed. The way Martin had smiled at him, tight and watery, as he deposited the hastily thrown together bag of groceries, packed with fresh fruit, milk and bread and a grilled chicken, still hot from the corner shop’s heating oven.

“Thank you”, Martin had choked out, blinking furiously. “I – I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jon had muttered sometime unintelligible and fled.

-

Jon pokes at his dinner without any appetite, his mind too full of squirming worms and Martin’s face as he mentioned living off canned peaches. He pushes the plate away with a grimace. For thirteen days, Martin was trapped in his flat and no one even bothered to check on him properly. No, that’s not true. _Jon_ didn’t bother. He scrolls back through Prentiss’ messages again, this time reading his own replies, hating himself a bit more for every one of them. Not a single time did he ask Martin how he was doing, if he was alright, or wish him a speedy recovery or anything of the sort.

He puts the phone down on his kitchen table, screen downwards, and runs his fingers through his hair, dislodging the tie holding it together.  Looking at the texts now it’s so obvious that they weren’t written by Martin, how on earth could he have missed this the first time?! Their phrasing and formatting are nothing like Martin’s!  _Because you didn’t care to notice_ , is the awful truth his brain provides for him. Martin was trapped in his flat, fearing for his life, certain that he’d been abandoned by his colleagues, with Jane Prentiss relentlessly knocking on his door for  _two weeks_ while Jon secretly hoped he’d be sick for a bit longer. Nothing serious, of course, but…

“I would have done something if I’d known”, he tells the clock on his wall, but it only continues its accusing ticking. He clenches his hands to stop them from trembling.

-

The next morning, Martin is sitting in the break room clutching a cup of tea when Jon comes in. He looks up when Jon’s shadow falls over the table, eyes red rimmed and bleary. It looks like he still hasn’t slept much.

“Thank you”, he says quietly. “For letting me stay here.”

“I – of course.” Jon hovers awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before heading into his office. He wants to apologise, tell Martin he’s sorry that no one came for him, tell him – But he can’t, can he? Instead, he tries to lose himself in his work, some inconsequential statement about a ghost that records just fine on his laptop.

Moments after he finishes the recording there is a soft tap-tap on the door, and Martin pokes his head inside.

“I – I brought you some tea, if – if you want it.” He sounds hesitant and unsure, and guilt twists in Jon’s belly. He swallows.

“Ah – yes. Thank you, Martin”, he says. Martin’s smile is relieved, if a bit shaky around the edges as he  steps inside and deposits a steaming cup on the desk.

“There you go. I – I’ll try to get the notes you asked for done before lunch.”

Lunch comes and goes, and no notes show up. Not that Jon actually notices until he accidentally glances at his laptop’s clock and discovers that it’s already  two in the afternoon.  He rubs at his eyes  and closes the laptop.  With a groan, he forces his shoulders down, tense muscles protesting. He needs to stretch his legs a bit, maybe even grab something to eat…

M artin is sprawled on the break room couch, fast asleep. There is a half-drunk cup of tea on the table in front of him  and he has one foot still on the floor; he must have fallen asleep unexpectedly while taking a break. The break room is chilly, just like the rest of the archives, and Martin is only wearing a thin shirt. It must be cold, and Jon winces in sympathy as he imagines the crick in his neck when he wakes up.

Silently, he creeps up to the couch and drapes the blanket Sasha keeps there over Martin. He stirs and mumbles something, and Jon holds his breath as he backs out of the room and back into his office.

Eating can wait for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, neither of them reflected over the fact that the second half of this takes place on a Sunday. That is probably why they’re alone in the Archives, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to talk to me on tumblr @ [NammiKisulora](https://nammikisulora.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Kudos and comments are the best <3


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